


a month of Sundays

by insomniacjams



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1793497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insomniacjams/pseuds/insomniacjams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I haven't seen you in a month of Sundays."</p>
            </blockquote>





	a month of Sundays

**Author's Note:**

> "And I know that I love you forever and a day, and I know that I found a place where we can stay." [\- Common Rider](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hQvEWw76MAw)

It's Sunday; it's the one day of the week they don't breathe the same air, eat the same food, and sing the same songs. It's the one day of the week they scatter like ocean ripples from a stone, and find solace in the comfort of their own lives.

Liam loves Sundays; he loves the way the sun always shines with his smile, even when the skies are grey (who is he kidding, they're always grey in London) and the way that he gets to have a lie in, legs tangled into the sheets and body melded into the mattress. 

But just as much as he loves Sundays, he hates them and the loneliness that accompanies them, the lack of his friends burrowed at his side, under his feet, leaves his body feeling cold and limp no matter how high he cranked the heat in his lifeless flat.

No Zayn.

Harry likes his routine. He goes to the supermarket on Sundays to buy food for the week – then he goes to the bakery and asks dumb questions to the staff and then goes for a picnic with some friends of his. Sometimes, he brings along his camera, the one he spent thousands of dollars on and doesn't use enough, and he'll show up on Monday with the most breathtaking photographs Liam has ever seen. 

When Liam asked him once about where he goes to take them, Harry had just waved his hand in the air and said, "Places" like he never wants anyone to know where he goes after the supermarket. Liam's not sure he wants to know anyway.

Louis likes to watch football matches on Sundays. He'll gather a few of his lads, and pile in front of the telly with a bag of popcorn bigger than his head – football's a different language, and they all like football, really, they do, but they don't speak it like Louis does.

When there isn't a match, Louis will take a ball to the park with those same lads, the ones he'll never introduce to the boys, because Louis like to compartmentalize his life for emotional stability (Liam keeps his distance; he knows not to push). 

Niall used to try and find a piece of home in the shoddy Irish Pub in Camden; there isn't a city in the world without an Irish pub, and Niall will find every one of them and fill them with life, shouting and drinking until his voice is hoarse and he's scolded by their management. 

Liam accidentally ended up there on a Sunday years ago, and Niall had been sweet-talking the most gorgeous barmaid he'd ever laid eyes on, and Liam had backed right out of there before his friends had even properly set foot in the door.

Now, on Sundays, Niall spends the day with his family; he takes his wife and son to the zoo, or the park, and they both eat candy floss until their fingers are sticky with it. Some days, he invites Liam along, but Liam never goes.

Zayn goes to the skate park, or the closest thing there is to one in his neighbourhood. It's a hole nestled between an abandoned apartment building and a halfway house. There's a halfpipe that hasn't been maintained in years, and the walls are covered in graffiti that Liam can't read. 

Liam finds it surprisingly indicative of Zayn's personality that he still doesn't live on the best side of town, even though he has the money to live anywhere in the world. He still rides the same skateboard he had when they first met – the trucks and wheels are new, but the board is still the same, the design on the back worn off from years of loving.

Never once has Zayn ever said he's getting too old, not even when Liam knows he watches the kids come, grow up, and go.

He goes through about three pairs of shoes every two months now that he can afford to replace them when they get holes. Liam knows this because he counted once, and it's a dumb thing to do, but he counts the weeks by Zayn's new shoes now. 

Liam doesn't know any tricks – he could maybe still do a kickflip if he tried hard enough, but he hasn't touched a skateboard in years (not since Zayn tried to teach him once, when they first met, and Liam landed on his face after going down a set of stairs). 

Liam doesn't have a Sunday routine – some days if he wakes up early enough, he'll go for a jog down the boulevard, or hit the gym before noon. Some days he'll go to the supermarket, not the fancy organic one that Harry goes to, but the one closest to his apartment that does cheap hot food since he can't cook worth shit. 

He's never been good with routine, to be honest, but there's one thing that remains consistent – on Sundays, he wakes up alone, spends his day alone, and goes to sleep alone. And he likes it, or he thinks he does, because it's the only time he gets to take a step back, and just breathe.

And then Zayn comes crashing in like a storm in Liam's calm, like he's always done – he comes in with a theme song, loud and thundering to contrast his introversion. He calls, too early on a Sunday, leaving Liam's phone chirping a song too loud in his ear.

"What do you want?" Liam asks, because he doesn't take too kindly to a wake-up call on the only day of the week he can sleep in. He's not angry though, he's never angry at Zayn – he doesn't understand how anyone can be. 

He should've seen it coming, really. During the last week, Niall had been cheerier than usual, Harry had gone to the supermarket, and Louis had ditched out on a movie night to play football with the boys. He should've seen the break in their routines, but he didn't.

"You need to come with me today," Zayn says, and Liam frowns, staring at his bare legs sticking out from under his comforter.

"Where? To the skate park?" Zayn laughs at him like he's daft, but it's a fond laugh. 

"I know it's early, Li," and he can practically hear the smile in his voice. "But please be up and dressed when I get there."

"Get here?" Liam echoes, thoroughly confused, but he only hears silence and sighs to himself as he swings his legs out of bed. What does he have to lose? 

Zayn takes them to the train station; he doesn't bring his skateboard. The sun's barely risen by the time they make it to Southend, and it isn't romantic in the slightest because it's Sunday – Liam should still be in bed.

But at the same time, it's the most romantic thing anyone's every done for him: gotten him up and about early the way he's always liked, taken him to the waterfront, and held his hand – because they are, holding hands, that is. 

It's a funny feeling, holding hands with Zayn in public, but it's been too long now – they've sparked and faded and now they can go to the supermarket like Harry does and buy groceries without being stopped by strangers. He thinks it's odd, that it's only been a few years, but it's like a lifetime's come and gone.

Liam thinks they look different too; he's not sure if it's because they're older or wiser, or they've grown more facial hair. He wonders what happened, ten years ago when they were young and in love that was any different from today. "The world's changed," Zayn comments as he leads them to the sea.

He doesn't know if Zayn's spectacular at reading people, or just reading him, but Liam likes how he doesn't have to say a word and Zayn will know – he will know exactly what goes through his head on any given day, even on Sunday, when they sleep in separate beds. 

"It's funny," Zayn continues, "How we're older now, but everything's still the same. We're adults – we have our own jobs and friends and families, but we still live out of each other's pockets." And every word of that is true. Liam knows. He knows what it's like to sit at Niall's kitchen table while his wife is out at the shops and feed their child.

He knows that Zayn spends a lot of days at Harry's flat helping him figure out whatever the latest recording equipment he bought is, and he knows that Louis bounces between all of them, the only one who left the industry altogether and traded it for an office job, but never left his boys behind.

"Everything's different," Liam says, instinctively moving to touch around his neck where the ring used to hang back when they had to hide it, but finds his neck void of jewellery; it's on his finger now, where it's supposed to be. "But everything's the same."

"S'what I just said, Li," Zayn laughs. "Maybe I shouldn't wake you up on Sundays. You're out of it."

"No, I’m just thinking," Liam says softly, smiling at Zayn and squinting against the sun. "I can't believe we got married here," he adds, looking across the beach peppered with tourists.

"We were in a hurry," Zayn drawls. "Not quite sure why, now that I look back on it."

"Me neither," Liam agrees, toeing off his shoes and grabbing them in his hands so that he could sink his feet into the sand. He could feel the warmth of the sun seeping into the granules between his toes, and lets out a content sigh. "You should wake me up more often," he says suddenly.

"I wake you up enough," Zayn frowns, and Liam knows he's thinking about how he has to be at the studio so early in the mornings when Liam's job often requires him out so late at night. He thinks it's startlingly backwards from the way things used to be, when Zayn used to sleep forever in the mornings, but Liam would be up before the rest of the boys each day.

"I don't mind when it's you," Liam says softly, and it's like he's nineteen all over again, trying to figure out his sexuality when all he gets are bursts of Zayn in his head no matter who he's dancing with at the end of the night. "It's always you anyway, no matter what," Liam says, tightening his fingers around Zayn's.

"Yeah," Zayn laughs, lifting their hands a bit. "I think I get that now."

"It only took us, like, six years to get our shit together," Liam laughs.

"I think it was longer than that," Zayn snorts, taking off his shoes as well, shaking out the sand that had slipped in. "How the fuck did you convince me that getting married on the beach was a good idea? Like, not even a beach in Cuba or something – a beach in fucking Southend."

"You were in love," Liam laughs, letting Zayn's hand free in order to rush ahead, letting the cool breeze pull his hair back from his face – it was starting to get long again, and he thought momentarily about getting it cut. 

But then Zayn reaches out, and tugs him back by the hair, and that thought goes out the window. "Don't talk about me like I'm just another part of your past," Zayn hisses, all quiet, and it's just so Zayn to catch the past tense in Liam's words.

"But you are," Liam stresses, frowning as he twists out of Zayn's grip to grapple at his hips and pull him close. "You're always going to be a part of my past, no matter what happens – it's the one thing that won't go away, because it's already happened."

"Is that what you're worried about? You think I’m going to go away?" Zayn frowns.

"I feel like I don't see you enough," Liam whispers.

"Liam, we do-"

"We're married, Zayn. We're fucking married, and I haven't seen you in a month of Sundays." Liam pulls back, letting go of Zayn and trying to turn away, but Zayn keeps him in place.

"I didn't know," He says, his voice wavering as he rests his forehead on Liam's. "I thought you liked it – your space, I mean. Your routine."

"I hate routine," Liam stutters out. "I need you in my space, like all the time. I know, before we, you know, made it official, you were always gone on Sundays, but I thought it was because we were always gone on Sundays – all of us, not just you. I thought it was going to change, but it didn't, and god, I don't know if I can handle waking up or sleeping alone. Where do you even go?"

"I go to the studio," Zayn admits, frowning. "I sleep on the couch there."

"You, ugh," Liam grunts in his inability to articulate his thoughts. And he used to think that Zayn knew everything about him, but he realizes that sometimes communication is verbal too. So he swallows his pride and says, "I'm sorry. I should've said something."

"No, I should've said something too," Zayn kicks at the sand and a bit of it lands on Liam's jeans, and he smiles as he feels it run down his bare ankles. It feels like their wedding, kicking the sand at each other as the water lapped against the shore. 

"I love you," Liam says, pressing his cheek against Zayn's, which feels dumb with how wide he's smiling, but it doesn't deter him. "I feel like I don't say that enough anymore, and I need you to know that."

"I love you forever and a day," Zayn says softly, the same way he always did, from that first night Liam trembled apart under the shadow of their tour bus in Berlin, to the first time in a cheap hotel in Michigan, to the day of their wedding on this very beach, and every single day after that, save for Sundays, because on Sundays, Liam woke up alone.

"This extra day," Liam asks suddenly, letting go of Zayn entirely in favour of shuffling toward the water to wet his toes, "I bet it's a Sunday."

"I bet it's every Sunday," Zayn follows him, though he stays back from the waves. "Every Sunday between now and forever, and it'll be our new routine. We'll wake up together, spend the day together, and go to sleep together."

"That doesn't sound like a solid routine," Liam laughs. "It leaves a lot of wiggle room in between."

"That's good then," Zayn grins cheekily. "Didn't you say you didn't hated routine anyway?"

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> I'm new to this fandom -- come say hi, please, I like new friends! I'm always on Twitter [@Munnoaster](http://twitter.com?Munnoaster/) and occasionally on tumblr at [chloroform dreams](http://chloroformdreams.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Come talk about 1D since I know nothing about them, hockey, heavy metal, cute animals, or anything in between.  
> (if I like you, I'll probably write you a thousand and one fics, because I love writing things for people)


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